


Gag Order Redux

by Zabbers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Butt Plugs, Cunnilingus, Dildos, Double Penetration, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Gags, Hair-pulling, Mind Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, oh look it's an actual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zabbers/pseuds/Zabbers
Summary: Extryn said "i'd feel better if she stuck a dildo gag in his mouth and rode that"The Master gets gagged. Thirteen gets filled.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	Gag Order Redux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [extryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extryn/gifts).



He flips the Doctor over and shoves the thing in her mouth.

He’d tolerated the gag in the first place, maybe deserved the indignity of the gaped mouth and the sopping chin, had enjoyed the feel of the short, thick end between his teeth and the phallus sticking unwieldy out of his face. He’d been perhaps a little helpless as she descended over him, her arse in his eyes, her thighs smothering the plate that held his lips in check. She’d settled her weight on his shoulders, her calves and knees bony, and he’d kept his hands to himself, clenching and splaying and raking at the dirt around his legs while she bounced herself on his face. The gag mashed against his mouth; he could feel the wet, slick inside of his lip impacting on his teeth, the bruising pressure of being trapped repeatedly between stiff leather and his own hard tissue. 

She hadn’t touched him either, though he’d been so clearly, so deliberately within reach. Instead, she balanced on him, not so much as propping her palms on his hips. He’d been hard and exposed in front of her, all of his body visible to her. All he could see was the detail of her skin, her back curving away above him, the back of her head, her hair moving across her neck. 

Dirt turned to mud on the sweat of his skin, caking under and into him, working into his hair—the Doctor finally dripping; and he could smell her but he couldn’t taste her; he knew from the sticky trickle that it was smearing from the top of the gag onto his chin, only to mingle with his saliva, too late, as it made a mess of his jaw and his throat, his head pushed back by her exertions.

Then she _had_ touched him, her hand around his cock out of nowhere, and his back had arched and his feet had pushed against the ground and his hips and arse had lifted so high he’d thought the muscles around his spine would seize. She’d lost her grip and the gag had slung out of her, and that was when he’d knocked her over, pushing past his body’s confusion to put himself above her. She’d landed on her hands and knees, catching her fall with her palms out, but he put his hand between her shoulder blades, touching her at last, and shoved her the rest of the way to the ground. Into the dirt. He’d pushed her face in it.

Gagged, he can’t say the things he wants to. But he flips her over and looks at the dusty mud on her, the gravel pebbled onto her skin, and she opens her mouth to speak, and rather than wallop her in it to stop her, he grabs her face and he squeezes her jaw and he leans down and inserts into her open mouth the appalling cock she’d installed into his. 

There’s not much panic in those eyes, even up close. He sees mostly irritation. The Master snarls deep in his throat and settles his weight on her body—because, all things being equal, and they’re not, they’re about as strong, but he’s heavier now—and shoves the thing into her again and again, listening for the retching sounds and not caring about the ache in his neck as he fucks her mouth with his. 

The leather keeps them separate, their faces close. He imagines the feeling at the back of her throat, and he doesn’t know if he’s remembering the feeling of having the throat or of taking it. 

She relaxes, all of a sudden, stops resisting. She’d grabbed his arm, but now she lets it go. She lies slack, staring at him. He fucks on for a while because the irritation and the impatience and the disdain are still there in her eyes. Her hands, he realises when he lets up, are fisted. 

He takes his knee off her belly. Considers punching it into the unprotected flesh while he can. Instead, he drops it to the ground between her legs. A frisson passes between them: _the Doctor knows what the Master had almost done_ , and when it’s blown through them both, he strokes his hands once from the tops of her thighs to her knees, wraps his fingers around behind them, and pushes up on her legs. 

He lifts her onto him, tilting forward to angle his dick and the strap-on on his face, forgetting as soon as he’s doubly inside her which cock is the organic one, which one is laced with nerves and filled with blood and rooted extravagantly to the elaborate system of his body. The wet and complicated tightness around him could be any part of her, could be every part of her, like he’s in her mouth _and_ between her legs, her lips stretched around him as he coils and uncoils himself, coils and uncoils himself. 

Then, for a moment, she’s in him too, and she is his cock, both of them, and he’s the mouth, he’s the hole, he’s the holes she’s thrusting into, end to end to end of him, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

_Never!_

Out, out, out of his head—she’s in him too much as it is, and this is the withheld hand, this is the sensationless, ersatz placeholder. She’d put it on him, and he’d let her do it, and she has to live with the empty act. He shuts her out, and he pulls out of her too, though with a sort of reluctant slowness; finally, he sees in her an emotion he sought to find. He treasures it, touches its contours on her face. Sits up.

She works her jaw while he reaches behind his head for the buckle on the strap. For a moment, he can’t grip it, and then he can, and he tugs it loose. His own jaw is stiff as he releases the gag and pulls the whole apparatus from his face, saliva stretching from his mouth, which refuses at first to close. 

It’s difficult to form the words, but he forces his mouth and his mind into shape. “Turn around. Hands and knees.”

Her brow knits, ridiculous above a mouth made flushed and slick. 

“If you want anything inside you, Doctor, you’ll get on your hands and knees.”

He crouches behind her as she complies and finally tastes her, sucking on her labia and tonguing between them. Her arse cheeks are almost too slippery to hold apart, but he kneads his fingers around until he finds a single-handed grip. He licks up to her arsehole, but it tastes the same as the rest of her, like Doctor. Like always; like never, not within memory, before. He draws back, and he holds the gag end of the strap-on as though it were the hilt of a sword and presses the tip end up to the pucker. He rubs it around, and he applies pressure. It bends, épée-like, before pushing into her anus. 

She breathes in, not quite a gasp, too sharp to pass off as nothing. 

“This thing is covered with your juices,” he says as he works it shallowly. “You’ve prepared it well.”

“Yours too,” she says, sounding like she’s grit her teeth. 

He tilts his head. “A bit. Maybe. Maybe we should add to it.”

He drives his hand all the way forward, until the crossguard meets her skin. She gasps this time, a voiced cry. 

“Shush,” he says, looking at the Doctor's bottom with satisfaction. “Now _you’re_ gagged.”

The plugged arse bobs, the flesh and space below it an open and swollen invitation, streaked as though with drool. He gets up on his toes, still squatting, and shoves back into her. She drops her head and pushes against him, groaning. 

“My cock and the one you gave me, filling you. How do you like that? This is what you wanted, isn't it?”

She shakes her head, still rocking forwards and backwards.

“I asked, how do you like it.”

“I don’t. I hate it,” she says. 

“Then why are you fucking me back?”

“Finishing what I started…”

“You?” The Master laughs. “Go on then, finish me.”

The Doctor groans again and grinds hard onto him. He grabs her hair for leverage, his fingers close to her scalp, and her shoulders tighten in pain. He takes the handle of the gag in his hand again to circle and pull it inside her, watching her muscles work in reaction to it, suction or squeezing keeping him from sliding the entire length accidentally out of her. She'd silenced him with it, and now he's in control, now he's taken hold of the muzzle she'd strapped to his face and made her arse into a mouth and made her swallow it whole. He feels it in her with him, intimately far away, crowding the barrier between flesh and flesh.

Eventually, he lets it be and grabs a shoulder, too, needing the aid to balance as the Doctor puts her strength into it. She pounds back into his crotch. The gag digs into his abdomen. He doesn’t care. The tight friction is around him again, and the pressure of her mind trying to stop itself from begging to be let in, though she’s everywhere around him, smothering and suffocating him, and airless, gripped, he’s struggling to touch her, while keeping her deliriously removed, and in the battle between these states, he’s an endless set of waves of sensation, and all of a sudden he knows he’s going to come. When he does he splits open the shield he’d been holding against her. He detonates himself into the space between them, eradicating the gap, filling the margin, spilling and spilling, spasming in her and jerking on top of her, falling onto her skin. 

When he pulls out of her body, he turns away as quickly as he can, scrabbling for the distance with which they’d begun.

It’s a saving distance; it’s a separation he needs. He thinks she enjoys it. Maybe she needs it too. Maybe the Doctor understands something he doesn’t. But the Master can stand to be a bit unreal. He can tolerate the artificial remove if he thinks there’s any chance for him, if there’s any chance that _this_ , this distance is what could save him.

**Author's Note:**

> So I said "he'd flip her over and fuck her in the mouth with it  
> whiplash be damned"


End file.
